


the great forest

by finnwrites



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1920s, F/F, Fantasy, Friends to Lovers, POV Lesbian Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 23:20:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9209930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finnwrites/pseuds/finnwrites
Summary: The Great Forest is more like a sea than a forest; an unfathomable ocean of trunks and mist that has been waiting centuries to be explored. Judith had never heard the call of the Forest, until Joan followed it in too deep.





	

The Great Forest is more like a sea than a forest; an unfathomable ocean of trunks and mist that has been waiting centuries to be explored. Children will wade in to climb trees as far as their parents can see them, but even they know that if you let the call of the forest seduce you, if you follow the birds’ songs past the drop-off, if you seek out the White Hind of legend and chase her until the canopy blocks the sky, you will never come back home.

Of course, coming home had never seemed to be a concern for Joan. Neither had reason, or caution, or propriety. Judith couldn’t even decide if Joan cared for her a bit, or if she was just the first person to recognize Joan’s brilliance. For Judith, it was impossible not to see: the way her short hair curled about her ears, how her eyes would grow wide as she raved about something she read in Popular Aviation, her bad habit of starting fights with anyone who dared disagree.

Judith surveyed the Great Forest from her place on the hill before it. In the dim light of her Coleman lantern, far above the trees, it really was like water; its dark leaves rustled like waves, rising and falling as if pulled by the tide.

“Joan!” she called into the mist. The wind roared, whether in response or of its own accord she could not say. It pulled at her skirts and hair, drawing them closer to the trees. Judith had always been warned about the call of the forest, as people had been warned for all of time, but Joan was in there. She stepped forward, singing as she went:

_I loved her in the springtime,_  
_When she wore violets in her hair._  
_She loved me in the meantime,_  
_And left me with violets to spare._

\---

Judith had lost all sense of time and sensation in her legs when she finally tripped over one of the tree’s broad roots; they were larger than herself now. She rolled on to her back to gaze into the canopy. The trees were now many thousands of times taller than anything Judith had ever known.

“Judith? Is that you?” Her voice was muffled, but it was her. Joan. Judith scrambled to her feet, bunching her wool skirts around her knees.

“Joan,” she cried, nearly tumbling over the roots in her frenzy, “I’m here, I’m here, wher-” Joan’s chest colliding with her own interrupted her search. Judith sunk into Joan, anchoring herself with her arms around Joan’s neck and Joan’s around her waist. She stepped backward. Joan was smooth as always, tiny in her father’s suit and boots and still lovelier than all the stars in Hollywood. Her brother’s haversack from the Great War was slung over her shoulder, packed full of food and clothes; a hatchet’s handle poked out threateningly.

“Judith, please, be quiet!” Joan whispered, her fingers digging into Judith’s arms.

“No! I have done so much to find you, I’ve been scratched and ripped and bruised, all so I could take you home, now will you-” Judith was interrupted once more, this time by Joan’s palm clamping over her lips.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry,” Joan murmured, her voice hardly louder than a breath, “I’m sorry I put you through all that, I shouldn’t have.” She removed her hand, letting it instead comb the leaves out of Judith’s hair. “But you’ve gotta listen to me. Can you do that?” Judith nodded and sat behind one of the great roots, patting the spot next to her for Joan. 

“There's something funny with the forest,” Joan explained in an unusually hushed tone, “The whole time I've been here, I haven't seen or heard any critters. And I've got an idea why. Look behind us.” Judith turned. In a mossy glade empty of trees laid a silvery doe, tall and elegant and shining like the moon. 

“The White Hind!” Judith yelped. Joan slammed her hand back on her mouth. 

“Look closer.” Joan turned her head back. Coiled tightly around the doe was a serpent, thick as the forest’s roots and long as Ariadne's string. “That snake is killing the Mother of the Forest. We have to save her!”

“No, we have to go home!” Joan fell back, shocked. “Remember all our plans? You’ll be the first woman to fly across the ocean and I’ll be right there waiting for you, but we have to go home first! Please, Joan,” Judith pleaded. Joan rose to her feet.

“There’s no home for me back there.” Joan’s jaw quaked with tension. It was the first time Judith had ever seen Joan shaken. Too late did Judith notice the forked tongue flicking at Joan's ear. The serpent seemed to have abandoned the White Hind, instead becoming rather fascinated with Joan. He wrapped himself around Joan's chest, binding her limbs tight to her torso, pulling her to the forest's roots. 

“Joan! Fight it!” But Joan seemed incapable of fighting; she was frozen, whether in shock or in terror Judith could not say. Each breath was shallower and more ragged than the last. The serpent snapped his jaw at Joan’s hair and she whimpered like a spring blossom in a thunderstorm. 

A fast glint of light drew Judith’s eyes away from her ladylove. There, just a few steps from Joan, laid her hatchet, having fallen from her haversack. Without thought, Judith rushed for the hatchet. She raised it above her head as if praying for strength, and felled the serpent’s head like Zeus’ thunderbolt. Joan collapsed into Judith, taking them both to the roots. 

“How’s the hind?” Joan asked, adrenaline pumping through her voice. But when they turned to her resting place, the Mother of the Forest had vanished. In her stead, the birds sang high in the trees and the grasshoppers harmonized low by the roots. 

“Sweetheart, let’s go home.” Joan offered her hand to Judith.

“But, didn’t you say,” Judith started, weaving her fingers past Joan’s. 

“I think I’ve found my home,” Joan finished. “Sing for me?”

They stepped onward, singing as they went:

_I love her like the springtime,_  
_When violets float on air._  
_She loves me like the meantime,_  
_And calls us quite a violet pair._


End file.
